


Take a Rest on Me

by LukeVonCastiel



Category: Guild Wars, Guild Wars 2
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3247460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LukeVonCastiel/pseuds/LukeVonCastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Marshal hasn’t slept in a week. The Commander thinks it’s time he took a nap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Rest on Me

**Author's Note:**

> The Commander is given no name or race so that anyone might imagine their own character in their place (so long as the personality fits). This is the same reason for the gender non-specific pronouns. Inserting your character is not required. Enjoy!

"Marshal?"

Trahearne looked up from the maps spread across the table, tired eyes catching sight of his Commander. He gave them a brief smile before looking back down. An undead ship had appeared a few days before and intersected one of the supply routes, and while a Vigil-Priory force planned an assault against it, Trahearne needed to plan a temporary path for the Pact supply ships.

"It’s good to see you, Commander. Please, take a seat." He gestured to his left, at a wooden chair. He currently sat in Caer Aval, the drapes that made up his ‘room’ pulled down to afford him some privacy and block out the noise.

"Thank you Marshal," the Commander gave a brief nod, taking the indicated seat. "These the plans for the new supply route?"

"Yes, though things aren’t going well," Trahearne sighed. "The areas around the original route are swarming with Risen, and their numbers have only increased with the arrival of the undead ship." His finger traced potential pathways, each one more problematic than the next. "Unfortunately we can’t afford to wait for the military force to remove the undead ship, especially if there’s a chance they’ll fail to do so. Those supplies include food rations, and our stock here is uncomfortably low."

"True," the Commander frowned. "And the Asura Gates have been acting up again. I’ve had a word with the gate master, but she says she has no clue why they’re malfunctioning. Either way, they’re unsafe and she’s stated that no one is going through either side of the gate until she says it’s no longer a hazard."

Trahearne bit his lip. This entire situation was a mess. _His_ mess. As Marshal it was his duty to ensure that the activities that occurred in Fort Trinity and the Invasion of Orr went optimally. All failures fell ultimately on him, on his inability to guide the Pact.

_'You must be strong, Trahearne. Strong for everyone.'_ He repeated the words in his head as he glowered down at the map before him. None of the temporary routes were safe, but the best options were the first and fifth.

_'But which one? Which one? If you select wrong, the supply ship could be boarded and sunk. There could be injuries, casualties…and that simply gives Zhaitan a fresh supply of troops, not to mention that the loss of life, the loss of friends, of family, of beloveds-“_

"Marshal!’ Trahearne jumped. The Commander held their hand in front of his face, waving it slightly. He realised they’d most likely been doing it for a good ten seconds, and he’d failed to notice.

"My apologies Commander, I-"

"You’re exhausted," the Commander frowned. Trahearne opened his mouth to protest, but the Commander interrupted with a tut. "No, no you’re not going to say otherwise. I bet you can barely see the lines on that map."

Trahearne glanced back to the paper, and found the Commander was right. The lines were fuzzy, blurred and uncertain. Where did the first path go, why had the third and fourth merged? He furrowed his brow in frustration.

"How many days have you been awake?" The Commander asked softly. Trahearne couldn’t remember.

"A week, maybe?" He said, after a while. The Commander inhaled sharply.

"For Tyria’s sake Trahearne, get some rest," they said, standing. "Come on, up and in your hammock."

"But I have to-"

"Do you really believe you can make a proper decision right now?" The Commander asked. Trahearne opened his mouth to counter them, and found he couldn’t. "You’re dead on your feet, Marshal. The Risen look lively compared to you, and that can’t signify anything good."

"I’ll say…" Trahearne shut his eyes, placing his head in his hands. "But this decision needs to be made fast."

"And _right_.” The Commander gave a weary smile. “I trust you Marshal. I trust you _Trahearne._ But not like this. Not right now. Sleep. Come back to it when you wake up.” Trahearne looked up at the Commander, as they placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I believe you’ll make the right decision. But rest first."

"Very well then," Trahearne stood, legs shaking. Was he really so tired that his ability to walk was compromised? When _was_ the last time he’d stood?

_'The meeting two days ago, with the Warmaster. You were discussing weapon shipments…'_

He allowed the Commander to wrap a reassuring arm around his waist as they helped him over to his hammock, settling him upon it. They let him go as he shifted, resting his head against his scratchy pillow. He often longed for a softer one, but he was used to going without. One did not have the privilege of owning luxuries when they spent most of their time in Orr. it was not the place for soft pillows and shiny things.

In fact, he was happy just to have a pillow here, this time.

"Don’t sleep just yet, I’ll be right back…" The Commander’s voice drifted away, and he heard the distant sound of the tent flaps being pulled aside.

A few minutes later he heard a similar noise, and judged the Commander had returned. The air smelt slightly, a warm, hearty scent he often associated with the humans and norn.

"Commander, we are supposed to be rationing food," Trahearne mumbled. The Commander smiled.

"It’s from my own supply, and I don’t mind sharing it," they said. They held out a small bowl and a slice of bread. "Go on, eat. Then sleep. Live a little."

Trahearne could only chuckle as he allowed the Commander to spoil him. Most wouldn’t consider a bowl of  stew and a nap being spoilt, but Trahearne’s perception was somewhat skewed.

He ate quite quickly, forgetting the last time he’d had a meal. No, he didn’t. Yesterday, at breakfast. He’d had a small, warm roll. Just the thought of it made his stomach growl, and he wiped up the remainder of his stew with his slice of bread, devouring it. The Commander handed him a mug, of something warm. He didn’t know what it was, but he trusted the Commander, so he drank it.

Then he fell back against the hammock with a sigh. Even with hot food and drink in his stomach, his mind was still full of sleepy thoughts. Anxiety crept up on him, its shadowy hands tugging at him and its dark whispers telling him he was failing, that he had failed, that the supply routes needed his attention now, and after that battle plans, ritual concepts, medical records of the dead and dying…

The anxious thoughts halted as he felt three furry balls of heat suddenly fall upon him, and a soft laugh from the Commander. It was a friendly chuckle, a comforting noise, and Trahearne couldn’t help but smile slightly.

"Leo, Maddy, Harley, you make sure he has a good rest, okay?" The Commander laughed a little louder as the three cats meowed in unison, then curled up next to Trahearne. They were good creatures, one’s he’d rescued many years ago. They’d been lonely, nestled by their mother’s corpse, and he’d been distraught, returning to an empty bed at night.

Now nothing helped him sleep quite like their fuzzy forms resting next to his, and he found his unpleasant thoughts drowning in a comfortable darkness. The last thing he heard was the sound of the Commander leaving his tent, and the little snores of his companions.

Then Trahearne fell asleep.

…

Outside the small structure that served as Trahearne’s room, the Commander paused. There was a lot of work ahead. The taking of Orr, the killing of Zhaitan, the cleansing of the land. So much that needed to be done.

Then their face lit up, the bags under their eyes erased at the thought of the resting Marshal within. He worked too hard. Much too hard, and he deserved every moment of relaxation he could get.

"Because we’ll do it," the Commander grinned. "We’ll get there, with you leading us. So take a rest on me."

Then they strode off, the image of one sleeping Marshal covered in cats filling them with warm joy and happiness.


End file.
